


La Rirette

by Arithanas



Series: What friends are for? [6]
Category: Les Trois Mousquetaires | The Three Musketeers - Alexandre Dumas
Genre: Brothels, Dark Alley sex, Enforced heteronormativity, F/M, Friends With Benefits, Games, Immodest orgasm, Jealousy, M/M, OOC Is Serious Business, Public Blow Jobs, Rain, Scandal, Sex Worker, sinship, sprit du corps
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-23
Updated: 2015-09-23
Packaged: 2018-04-23 04:23:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4862984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arithanas/pseuds/Arithanas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>1622, Paris. Porthos couldn't believe he lived to see the day when Athos went into a non santa house willingly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	La Rirette

**Author's Note:**

> _In celebration_

“I'll be on top,” Porthos said, holding his weapon with a sure grip.

“I'm pleased of being under you,” Athos assured and went to his knees. “Don't shoot the wall.”

Porthos grunted his agreement and started to take his aim.

The whole courtyard was silent, fifty musketeers held their breath watching how The Inseparables were ready to shoot wine bottles. The wagers were high because half of the marks were hidden or otherwise in a weak position.

Those two were taking high risks.

Thirty two pistols were at stake, but Athos and Porthos were calm, holding their positions behind the scabbards used to mark sixty paces. The loaded muskets were placed at hand and each shot was followed by the noise of a weapon falling on the stones. Bits of glass showered on the stones and chips of mortar flew from the places where the bullets found their nest, but The Inseparables barely winked, their minds were on the targets and the muskets.

They never doubled the target, the words exchanged were enough to establish a strategy and they held to it with martial precision. Coins exchanged hands among grumbling voices and was tossed at their feet as a fair reward of their mastery.

Then the courtyard felt silent when the ammunition was spent.

Porthos and Athos fired their last shoots and smiled at each other, both of them proud of a job well done. Eighteen marks on twenty was a good return and that was only because a bottle was on the fence and not be a safe target.

The rest of the musketeers came to express their respect and admiration; some even offered to collect the winnings, but Porthos declined the offer. Many a coin was lost that way.

“Athos!” M. de Treville called from the window once the groups began to disperse, “A word!”

“Captain’s calling” Athos commented with a shrug and headed towards the stairs.

Porthos mimicked the shrug and followed him, out of habit. By this time, whenever Athos was called, Porthos was usually called too.

“I can fathom how both of your _noms de guerre_ could sound the same,” Treville was holding the curtain that covered the door of his office, “but I know who I’m calling in!”

Athos darted Porthos a look and the inferred gist behind it was: Scram, you fool! If the Captain was incensed Porthos would make no favors to his friend if he holds his ground; with a sigh and a salute Porthos took his leave.

“Let’s talk inside, Athos,” the captain said with a mellower tone, showing his affection and respect to his musketeer.

“As you wish, monsieur.” Athos bent his head and passed under the extended arm.

Porthos heard how the heavy door closed behind them. The captain only closed the door those times he had a big bone to pick with someone. Against his better judgment, Porthos started to climb down the stairs.

~ ~ ~

The captain never called Athos in alone before and bode ill for his friend; there was nothing Porthos could do and he had to fight the urge to stay around the antechamber, not even a good quarter of hour in a crowded tavern could distract him. A sudden gust of wind sweep the tavern and a couple of musketeers rushed inside, Porthos was barely aware.

“Porthos!”

At the sound of his name, Porthos notice how hard his grip was on the tin cup.

“Porthos, you need to see this!”

“Let me alone!”

“Yep, I know I’m not an Athos…” One of the musketeers said, placing his hand on Porthos’ shoulder. “But you won’t believe it if you don’t see it!”

“What are you babbling about?!”

Those two men refused to tell another word, but they were surprisingly effective to make him rise from his chair and drag him outside the establishment, all the time sneering between them and promising they couldn’t believe what his eyes were about to see.

Porthos was physically hauled for a few blocks before being pushed into a establishment without giving him time to read the sign. The only thing that could make Porthos was a cat with its tail raised, but the same could be a bookstore or an apothecary.

He couldn’t be more wrong if he had made an effort.

Porthos' eyes took a brief moment to adjust to the dark interior, but his ears caught a chorus of voices, argentine voices, feminine voices, humming and laughing.  Then he heard the voice of Athos singing something about a foolish boy. Porthos brain was still trying to make sense of the new information when his eyes finally looked at the scene.

Athos—for there was not a doubt it was him— was seated with his back to the table with his legs widely sprawled. A pretty wench was sat on his thigh, other girl was sitting on the table by his side and yet another was approaching with a jar full of wine. That was an exorbitant quantity of women around his friend and, to make the scene even more even more unreal, he was singing!

“The moral of this story,” Athos chanted and waited for the gals to reply with the chorus, “The moral of this story is that men are randy sods.”

Damned be Athos, he even had a singing voice.

“What in…?”

“Even Athos needs to wet his wick once in awhile,” one of his comrades told Porthos before letting out a loud laugh.

“But the moral of the moral,” Athos continued smiling to the woman who filled his tumbler, “but the moral of the moral is that gals like randy sods.”

Amidst the general mirth Athos dried his cup, his hand roaming a white shoulder; Porthos felt a sudden pang of annoying bitterness because he was sure Athos was expressing his fancy for the blond wench. Before he could think of what was he doing, Porthos took a step forward and then another, ready to defend Athos. Great fortune was he stopped before he could do anything else, because Athos, he was sure, needed no one to protect him.

“Ah, Porthos!” Athos called and tipped his glass toward his friend.

“Athos?” For the first time in his life Porthos was bereft of words.

“Want to join us?”

Porthos looked around as if asking where could he find a place when one of the wenches took him by the hand and lead him to the side bench. Another wench hurried to bring a mismatched tumbler and the wine bearer was quick to pour a measure.

“The Captain had a letter for me and some money, too,” Athos said and he tilted his head to follow the step of the wine bearer, “it sounded like a good excuse to celebrate.”

“Is this a celebration, Athos?”

“It will be if I could find my way under a skirt…”

That salacious line sounded so jarring to Porthos’ ears but he made no comment. Porthos was suddenly aware of the blue uniforms in the room, almost a quarter of the regiment was there to witness Athos in a brothel. That unfortunate concentration of musketeers brought uneasiness to Porthos’ spirit because that curiosity was almost rude or maybe because Athos’ habits were rubbing off on him and Porthos was beginning to like the privacy he shared with his friend.

“So, what do we do with the winnings?” Porthos finally asked after a moment of silence.

“Keep them,” Athos approached to his head, “maybe you could have a celebration of some kind, too.”

Was there a small hesitation on Athos’ voice or Porthos just imagined it? He was not sure, but it sounded like a warning. Why was Athos so expansive? It was not his usual self. That kind of scandalous behavior was unheard of and Porthos found it almost disturbing.

“Well,” Athos said and kissed the hand of the wench who tried to sneak inside his doublet, “since you are not making much conversation, I left you to your pleasures. I stand in need of attending some delicious endeavors myself.”

Porthos just stared at him, in complete disbelief.

“See you tomorrow in the fencing hall?”

Athos meet his eye with a quick stare, but he withdrew his eyes too hastily when he got no answer. Porthos found Athos was hiding something and it was driving him mad not knowing his motivations.

Athos cared little about him. He was hunting.

Not literally, but he was too busy following the wine bearer, first with his look, then with his body.

Porthos never figured that lithe bodies and light hair were Athos’ fancy. The girl looked like she hasn’t got a warm food in days and there was barely enough to entertain the eyes but Athos followed her like she was the only girl worth watching in this cat house.

“So…” Athos’ smile and placed himself in front of the wine bearer. “Do you want to go and cut some rushes?”

Athos used his body to turn the small lady against the wall, he was not menacing, but he was not shy either. There was something in his voice, something awfully familiar and that, in combination with his smile and general bearing, made Porthos knees weak and made him wonder about how the wetness might be running down her thighs. Athos was performing a full-blown seduction.

Porthos knew he wouldn’t fail.

“Oh, just let me take my sickle, you randy sod!”

Athos bent his head and laughed mischievously on her neck while a naughty hand roamed down and squeezed the contents of his codpiece.

Porthos had seen enough. He turned to the girl who has been trying to get his attention for a quarter of hour.

“Would you like to go to the upper rooms?” Porthos asked, because one could never ask if she was ready for a poke. He tried it once and the results were far from satisfactory.

“I would like that,” she answered and batted her eyelashes.

Porthos appraised her, a solid body, nice weight on her chest. Maybe she was a bit heavy, but that was alright, because Porthos was too used to let Athos carry his weight and a bony woman might not like it.

“Standard fee?”

She clucked: “Here we are a bit more expensive than the standard fee.”

“Lucky you, madame,” Porthos said, his face was flushed. It was the first time a woman laughed at him, “because I can cover your price tonight.”

And without further ado, Porthos rose from the bench with energy, he extended his hand and, when the woman took it, he pulled her over his shoulder and moved briskly toward the stairs.  The woman let out a surprised cry, but Porthos was in a hurry.

If he could avoid witnessing how Athos took his prey upstairs; he would be very happy.

He was not ready to face the event otherwise.

~ ~ ~

Porthos tried to be careful with his load but he almost banged the woman’s head on the door post. A part of him was ashamed, he was not that brute, but another part of him couldn’t stand to see Athos in trance of getting his pleasure somewhere else, even though it were a pleasure he could not give.

He couldn’t, he was not ready.

He felt a bit calmer once they reached one empty room and, without any haste, he left the woman in the floor. She threatened to slap her customer, but Porthos ducked without even trying when he rushed to close the door.

“Forgive me, good woman,” Porthos said, facing the door, his legs were trembling and his chest was heaving with quick pace, “I was in sore need to be alone with you.”

“You could have said that,” she protested, anger made her voice sharper, “I could have run upstairs, skipping steps for you, big boy!”

Porthos closed his eyes. There was nothing to be worried about here. He was a man and she was a woman and nothing will happen that he has not been a willing part time and time again. He turned around and delivered his best smile.

She hesitated for a second.

That was all the opening Porthos needed.

“Oh, ma'am, I beg you on my knees,” Porthos said with exaggerated volume and combining the action to the word he knelt with a sudden movement.

A collective gasp came from downstairs when the ceiling above their heads trembled, but Porthos didn’t mind it he was playing an important part here and nothing could deter him.

“Please, forgive this fool and rude knave!”

She laughed so hard that the lace that bound her red bodice together broke and her superb breasts, covered with a thin shirt, bounced. Porthos took that as a personal triumph.

“Well…” She said once laughter was spent, her hands were busy with her dark frock, “while you are there, there is a better way to ask for forgiveness…”

Porthos was presented with a spectacle of her flying petticoats before a foot, encased within gracious footwear, was placed on his shoulder.

“Don’t waste another word, monsieur…”

That suited Porthos very well, since he liked to kiss all the cunts before filling them.

That might as well help his mind to forget Athos…

~ ~ ~

Athos smiled on the neck of the wench. Of course, he didn’t have to tell Porthos to make a spectacle of himself; he shook his head a bit in amusement before kissing the jawline of that wench.

With Porthos away, Athos gave the girl all his attention, as she deserved. A quick appraisal let him know he was in a good way: her breath quickened and that was always a good signal, so he upped the ante and let his left knee part her legs. The girl gasped and her back straightened against the wall.

“And what should l call you?” Athos asked almost in her ear, letting his breath caress her.

“Ray… Call me Raymonde, monsieur…”

“Can we find a better place to talk, Raymonde?” Athos asked, trying to hold his mirth. This girl was new to the trade if she was still using her giving name. “A place to know each other better?”

Raymonde took him by the hand and guide him to the stair, the wine carafe was still in her hand. Athos was amenable enough to let her lead the way.

As the climbed the steps Athos noticed two things: One, half of the regiment was there to attest how he willingly went to a room with a woman and Two, if the exchange of looks between the girl and the man in the bar was something to go by, he and his bad luck had just chosen the daughter of the master of the house. Athos looked at the ceiling in disbelief for was decreed he would never show his face in the _La Chatte Surprise_ ever again.

When they finally reached the landing the regiment started a badly-tuned rendition of ‘ _Ah! Le bel oiseau_ ’. The timing was too perfect to suspect it was anything but a taunt. Athos had heard worse, those words couldn't touch him, but he noticed the girl’s resolve was a bit shaken.

Athos cursed Treville and his bad luck and stopped her by one closed door.

“Raymonde, if I made a mistake, I’m willing to acknowledge it.”

“I want you, sir,” the girl said in a quivering low voice, “God knows I would take you and I would pay dearly for you.”

Inside his head, Athos was cursing his bad luck to the hell and back. Just when his choice couldn’t be worse…

“You don’t need to pay, girl, but I came to pay a woman for her time.”

“I was born to be paid and I must resign myself. Sir, don’t make me go back.” Raymonde clutched him with all her might, “If I don’t please the customers, he will beat me.”

Athos keep his sight on the open door while the girl sobbed on his chest, he know not a word insulting enough to call Treville in that moment.

After a while, amidst the drunken voices who cried bawdy songs, he guided the girl to the room.

~ ~ ~

“The ugly duckling got a client,” the woman said, her head resting against the door. “Finally!”

Porthos stuck his head out from under the skirts of women: “What?”

“Nothing to worry you, lion boy,” she said and caressed Porthos’ tousled head. “Ah, I should slap those who said the fair-headed ones don’t know how to kiss where it matters.”

“Oh, we know to do more than to kiss, ma'am,” Porthos replied and rose from the floor, rather slowly. “If you allow me…”

“You are the one paying, my lion cub!”

Porthos carried her again, this time taking care of putting her legs around his waist to  feel her bottom better, but after a couple of steps he noticed the sensation was not right. Too soft. Too light. He had to make a conscious effort to remember where he was. The woman noticed something was amiss and caressed Porthos’ head again.

“Sorry, I got distracted…”

“Happens to the best, my boy,” she reassured him and kissed his forehead. “Do you want a little jump? Or should we chat a little?”

“No, I think I’m ready,” Porthos returned to the task at hand.

Porthos took the little stroll to the bed and placed the woman on the bed, the movement brought his head to the space between her breast and that sent a joyful shiver down his spine and his cock recovered the strength it had lost when the memories crept in.

When the woman stopped caressing his head to hug him tightly, Porthos started to feel he could get comfortable in the saddle again.

“…I shall ruin you for those who come in my wake!” The voice of Athos sounded through the wall with all clarity.

Porthos and the woman shared a surprised look before she started to laugh again. Porthos was not laughing he knew it was not just another line since, even if he never knew another male lover, Athos has ruined him for other men.

At that precise moment, Porthos raised a prayer in hopes that Athos had not ruined him for women too.

~ ~ ~

Athos guided the girl toward the bed and made him sit on the mattress before taking the carafe from her hands and gave it a couple of long gulps.

“Well, Raymonde, what are we going to do?”

“Whatever you like, sir,” the girl was quick to reply. “You are paying.”

Athos sat by his side and took another swallow. The stunt in the hall was easy if one compared it with was ahead, because she wanted it even less than him and that was like trying to alight wet kindling.

After a moment, Athos took out his purse and counted five pistols: “Here is your fee.”

“Sir, you are paying too much.”

“I know,” Athos placed the coins on the small table by the bed. “These two are for your master, and those three for you, if you want to render me a small service, Raymonde.”

The girl watches him with a questioning look. Athos tried to smile at her confusion. She was cute as a button when she raised her face toward him; if Athos were in that room for his own volition he might have the will to attempt to bed her properly. Sadly, it was not the case.

Athos took another sip and drew Raymonde’s hand toward his crotch so she could feel a rather important absence.

“I don’t understand…” she said, looking at Athos in distress. “You don’t want me, sir?”

Athos inhaled and got ready to lie, “Wanting you is not a problem. I wish I could honor you the way nature intended. I cannot.”

At least, not now, Athos added in his mind.

“Why not?”

“God knows!” Athos blurted and noticed he forgot about the lie that was invented in connection with a shooting in any battle. The naked truth was he didn’t know why, but he won’t mount this filly.

“What do you require of me, sir?”

“Your voice and your silence.”

She smiled at him and reclined her weight on his shoulder: “You want me to say nothing for a while and then tell everyone and their mothers how wonderful you are in the bed, am I right?”

“I like the way you think, Raymonde,” Athos said and smiled at her, “but what I want is just the opposite.”

“I don’t follow you, sir, but I promise to please you the best I can.”

“Don’t worry,” Athos said and put the carafe in the floor, “I want you to enjoy yourself and be as vocal as you want. Leave the rest in my hands.”

“Sir, you are not hard…” She protested but made no attempt to resist when Athos pushed her to the bed.

“Certainly,” Athos replied, taking off his fine kid gloves, “but God is my witness; I shall ruin you for those who come in my wake!”

~ ~ ~

It started like a soft moan, so indulgent and pleasant; Porthos almost find it exciting. His mouth was filled with a soft tit and his hard cock was sliding comfortably in a slippery cunt. What else a man could ask for?

After five minutes the answer was ‘silence’, because Athos’ company was bawling her pleasure at the top of his lungs and she had a surprisingly loud voice for a girl that small.

“Shut up, duckling!” the woman who was bearing Porthos’ weight shout in a vain attempt to suffocate the noise.

Porthos cursed under his breath, if the screams of the girl weren’t enough to wither his hard cock, the thought of his woman distracted certainly was. This night was far from pleasurable…

“Let her be, good woman,” Porthos said and, after wiping his cock in petticoats, replaced his shames inside his breaches.

“Don’t feel bad, my boy,” the woman resettled her clothes. “More than one sailor has lost the wind of their sails, but they all returned to the sea.”

Porthos shook his head, he never doubted his prowess, but the noise was too annoying. Without a word he headed to the door, in sore need of some silence.

“Hey, lion boy, don’t you forget something?”

The woman sounded angry and Porthos turned around.

“You must pay, monsieur”

With a sigh, Porthos unleashed his purse. The price seemed a bit high but he didn’t argued, all that he want was to escape the moans.

~ ~ ~

Athos took his sweet time to wash his hands on the cold water basin. It was difficult because the sensation refuse to be washed away.

His eyes got distracted to the bed where Raymonde was laid, resting languidly between the cheap covers, and her bare tights in full view. Athos was somehow flattered by how much the girl enjoyed herself.

The harsh soap was difficult to clear off with that cold water. Athos resigned to put his gloves on his greasy hands. Instead of using the dirty towel, he used bottom half of his shirt to dry his skin ―shockingly that did the trick with the soap— and sat next to the girl.

“I’m taking my leave,” Athos said, tucking his shirt by the waistband, “I’m very much obliged to you.”

“Sir, if the All Mighty ever grants you a stiff one, please, remember my name!”

Athos chuckled at that delicious flattery; no man could be unmoved by such an appeal. This girl would make a delicious courtesan someday, if the man downstairs takes care to feed her better.

“Mind the promise you made me.”

“Oh, sir, not even the Inquisition could get a word from me!”

“I don’t ask you to go to those extremes,” Athos said, adjusting the gloves in his hands.

“Your secret is safe, sir. Rest assured.”

“Our secret,” Athos replied and took her hand before placing a kiss on her knuckles, “since you were here with me.”

Raymonde sat in the bed and hugged Athos against her. That took him by surprise but he let her do, since fretting about it would only result in a more prolonged contact. Soon, her arms abandoned him and he started his way toward the door.

“May God take you in His care, Raymonde,” Athos wished in all sincerity before closing the door behind him.

Athos smiled in the dark corridor. The experience was not as bad as he had imagined and, out of pure luck, he had obtained an unanticipated gift.  Little Raymonde could be an unlikely ally should Treville found necessary to subject Athos to this treatment again.

The capricious Fortune had been slow in granting him a caress, and it was not Athos's place to complaint if that touch was brief.

As he climbed down the stairs he was aware of the eerie silence in the hall. The musketeers were still there, the wine was still flowing and the women keep carousing their clientèle but that bunch of men were looking at him with startled eyes and open mouths.

At that moment, Athos noticed he might have overdone the farce a bit.

He faced the regiment with a contrite shrug, as if apologizing for the noise, and hurried his steps on the stair. There were a couple of details he wanted to take care before abandoning the brothel.

“Are you pleased, monsieur?” the master of the house asked as soon as Athos approached to the counter.

“That was a hardworking girl,” Athos said, trying to sound as noncommittal as possible. “I want a dinner plate.”

“No wonder, after the effort you put into…”

“And sent it to the girl. She’s the one who really need it,” Athos counted a couple of doubloons and put them on the counter. “What are you waiting for? I want to see the food going upstairs!”

“Of course, monsieur, right away,” the man hurried a scullery maid with some signals of his hands. “Anything else I could do for you?”

“Nothing, if that amount settles the debt.”

Athos held his gaze in the man’s eyes, daring him to overcharge his price. The man just showed gratitude him for his patronage with a bewildered expression.

Until he turned around, Athos didn’t notice that a sea of blue was daring the man as well.

~ ~ ~

Porthos blamed the noise, but in hindsight, maybe it was jealousy.

And being waiting under the rain was the worst place to realize that.

Porthos bit his mustache, hating Athos for being so good in the sack, particularly when he was not sharing said sack. Rainwater was pooling in his boots and Porthos kicked several times to avoid getting his feet wet, but to no avail. Athos was taking his sweet time with that spot of a woman and every minute made him more annoyed.

After a while, Athos left the building, tying his cloak over his neck instead of slung under the right arm. Athos always had a good head over his head. Porthos resettled his cape and started to follow Athos to the distance. The most frustrating thing was that he has not a thing to say; they are friends who fucked together, and nothing else.

“If I would want to have a shadow, I would have sent for Grimaud,” Athos commented after a few minutes.

“I’m not following you.”

“ _Rue du Vieux-Colombier_ is the other way around. You are following me.”

“And what if I do?”

“I would rather have you walking by my side instead of following me.”

“Oh, you want my company now,” Porthos almost spat, “you didn’t seem to want it before.”

“That was then, now is now.”

Porthos refused to be cajoled into a more friendly agreement and Athos shrugged and continued his march with perfect nonchalance.

“Tell me why.”

“That word is usually accompanied by more words.”

“Why did you seek a woman? Why today?”

“I felt like it.”

“So, I must wait until you feel you like cock instead of cunt?”

“How many times are we going to have this conversation, Porthos? I am a man, and regardless what you might suppose,” Athos said with a soft, smug tone, “I actually enjoy when someone fondle my shames. I don’t care whether it is a man or a woman.”

“I know…” Porthos voice was filled with impatience. “But how…?”

“I have been with women before, Porthos.”

“I know!”

Athos stopped his advance and Porthos almost stumbled upon him. Athos let out a sigh and then he turned around and faced his flustered friend.

“Porthos, I didn't mount her, if that’s what you are badgering me about.”

“Then why was she shrieking like a condemned soul in the grills of Hell?”

Athos’ tone was straightforward when he replied: “I have been told I have talented fingers.”

“ _Corbleu_! If that racket is proof of your talent, you should devote yourself to music!”

Athos lifted the brim of his hat and looked Porthos in the eye, ignoring the rain water that poured down his neck. In light of lightning, Porthos admired Athos' face and, for a brief moment, he had to fight two contradictory urges: kiss those lips or land a punch on that chin.

Providentially, Athos chose to speak before Porthos had an opportunity to attempt any of those.

“I’m a soldier, and I obey my Captain’s orders,” Athos explained a small, sardonic smile. “It doesn’t matter how absurd such orders a...”

The word died on Athos’ lips. Porthos, exultant to the extreme, couldn’t restrain himself any longer and kissed Athos with desperation. It was not his idea; he was not to blame and Porthos needed to express his joy with all urgency. Athos let him do, because he felt the celebration was in order, but he managed to keep his cool head the time required to take some steps backwards, guiding them to a dark alley; concealing them from curious gazes, behind a tall barrel that someone put there to collect rainwater.

“Your mouth tastes like cunt,” Athos said in his sensible tone once Porthos allowed him take breath. “Spare me the details.”

“You are hard,” Porthos disregarded the comment, because right now, the only thing that mattered was encased on Athos’ breeches.

“I’m a man, not a mountain!”

“Let me take care of this…”

“Back against the wall,” Athos commanded and Porthos complied, too engrossed in the task of unlacing Athos' codpiece to ask for reasons.

Athos put his left arm against the wall and let his cape shield them from the rain, Porthos took off his hat and put it between his knees, the devil may care if the felt gets dirty. The dark alley had the curious effect of enhancing the touch; Porthos cupped Athos’ balls and guide the hard cock to his mouth enjoying the act in anticipation. Athos moaned at the caress with complete lack of restraint. His right hand darted to Porthos head to encourage the act, trying very hard not to rock his hips, but Porthos’ tongue caressing his shaft was not making it easy.

“Eh!” A voice called from the mouth of the alley, “What’s happening there?”

Porthos tried to react, but Athos’ hand on his nape stopped his movement, just in time. A sudden flash of light illuminated the alley and a moan left Athos' lips as he threw his head back, dropping his hat into the mud. Porthos didn’t help that performance, because was trying had to not laugh with Athos’ dick in his mouth.

“I bet you've never seen someone pass a stone…” Athos lied while giving the intruder a dirty look.

“Oh, errr…”

“Off with you, meddler!” Athos almost growled, but not because he was annoyed, but because Porthos recovered his cold blood and struggled to breach Athos’ rear with his fingers.

The intruder backed off with backed off with an annoyed movement. Athos wished him good riddance, because Porthos was sucking him in earnest and his whole attention turned into the touch.

“Hey,” Athos called with heavy breathing, feeling how his balls started to rise to his belly.

Porthos hummed, totally lost in the sensation, bobbing his head at steady rhythm.

“If you hurry, we can go to my house,” Athos promised holding to the tatters of his restraint. “I promise to show you how talented my fingers can be…”  

Porthos groaned and knelt on the dirty floor, spurred by the offer.


End file.
